Nena Page 6

  “I could make her willing for you, my lord. You would not have to force her, as I know that displeases you. I am trained not only in the pleasure of men, but women as well, and I know ways to make even the most unwilling woman beg for your touch. Give me time with her in the furs. You can even watch,” she offered suggestively and traced a fingertip down the soft skin on the inside of Nena’s upper arm. She glanced at Jarl, happy to see his eyes hungrily following her finger’s path. “Many men enjoy that,” she murmured. “She will need to be restrained at first, but when she is ready, she will moan for you as I do,” Altene continued.

  Jarl’s eyes moved to his captive’s face. She looked at Altene now with even more disgust and a hint of horror. He tried to imagine what Altene was suggesting. Altene, naked and willing. The Teclan woman, hard and passionate. The three of them? His heart rate increased. Altene was the most skilled woman in the furs he’d ever encountered, and the prospect of things she might know about another woman was as shocking as it was intriguing. He felt Altene’s questioning eyes still upon him.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he declined.

  “Perhaps later then,” Altene murmured, satisfied by the strain in his voice that the decision had been a difficult one. She smiled to herself. The seed of suggestion had been successfully planted and his desire had been clear. He wouldn’t be able to help but consider it more later, when he had time to think about it. “In the meantime, I can find out her name for you, if you still want it? The Teclan are known to resist torture, but there are other ways to get information. There will be many among the new captives who will know her. All we have to do is threaten to maim a child and the mother will speak quickly enough.”

  “My name is Nena.”

  Altene smirked at her. “You see how easy that was. You’ll find things go much easier if you’re agreeable.”

  “Then I foresee things being very difficult for me,” Nena responded.

  Altene laughed again. “She’s a feisty one, my lord.”

  “I want you to take her to the baths and bring her back clean and dressed. I know it will not be easy, so gather as many other women as you need—and do not untie her hands.”

  “As you wish, my lord. It will not be a problem.” Altene smiled.

  Jarl had expected her to complain, but Altene seemed almost to be looking forward to the difficult task. Or was she looking forward to having his captive at her disposal? “And Altene,” he added. “She is not to be harmed—not so much as bruised, in fact. Am I clear? Any mark I find on her body will not go well for you.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Altene bowed her head and nodded before slipping back into her dress and leaving the tent.

  She returned quickly with four women. Far too few, by Jarl’s estimation after his recent experiences with the woman. He was about to say so when Altene produced a long section of thin rope. He watched in silence as the women rigged an unusual loose rope harness around Nena’s neck, wrists, waist and ankles, then led her from the tent without so much as even a hint of a scuffle.

  With the women gone to bathe, Jarl left to do the same. He returned in a fresh tunic and trousers to an empty tent and stood for a moment contemplating his next move. There was no way he was going to give her to his men, but he could hardly keep her tied with her hands over her head forever. He secured a short length of chain to the ring on the post, enough to allow her to sit or lie down, but not enough to reach him as he slept. Then he cleared out any object that could even be remotely considered a weapon from within the new circle of her reach.

  He felt a trickle running between his fingers and glanced at his hand. The wound had reopened and started to bleed again. He dug through one of his packs and found an old torn tunic that had yet to be mended and a vial of salve. He carried them to the table. He cut off two strips of fabric, wet one with water, then wiped away the blood. After a quick check to make sure the wound was clean of any debris, he smeared salve across the top, then wrapped his hand tightly with the remaining dry strip. He had just finished tying the knot in the fabric, using his other hand and his teeth, when the women returned.

  Nena stood among them, still wearing the rope harness, her bronze skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her hair was glossy and braided, and she now wore a sheer flowing dress similar to Altene’s. The thin material provided Jarl clear view of her silhouette and tantalizingly brief darker shadows of the tips of her breasts and between her thighs. He watched as the women secured her to the new chain on the post.

  Altene, who had been inspecting the security of the bonds before waving the other women out of the tent, noticed the path of his gaze and frowned. “I had to give her one of my own dresses, my lord. Hers was too dirty to be re-worn. Once it is cleaned, I will return it for her to wear.”

  “No hurry. This one is fine,” Jarl said, distracted. He finally tore his eyes away, and only then noticed the purple mark on Altene’s cheek. “What happened?” He traced his finger lightly along the edge of the bruise. His captive had left the tent willingly enough, but apparently had not remained that way.

  “I was instructed to bathe her and make sure no harm came to her, which I did. Your prize was given no such instruction,” Altene replied.

  “I apologize for that. That was not fair of me. You shall have...”

  “Retribution?” Altene glared at Nena.

  Jarl shook his head. “Reward. Go to the chest and pick a jewel—any jewel you wish for your trouble.” And for your results. Without the dirt and sweat and blood, the Teclan woman was even more breathtaking.

  Altene’s eyes brightened at the prospect, her bruise forgotten. She made her way swiftly to the chest before he could change his mind.

  “Any jewel?” she reiterated over her shoulder as she lifted the lid and gazed down on the sparkling array.

  “Any,” he verified as he moved to stand before Nena. “Now what am I to do with you? I can’t be watching you every second, and I can’t have you escaping,” he murmured.

  “Tie her life to another,” Altene said from the chest.

  “What do you mean?” Jarl asked

  Altene returned carrying the biggest ruby Nena had ever seen, so large it filled her palm. “Tie her life to another captive Dor, an innocent—preferably a child. If she escapes, the child will be killed.”

  “Is this some Dor trick to free her?” Jarl accused. “You speak nonsense. Dor are ruthless. I’ve seen them kill their own children. Why would the life of a stranger’s child keep her grounded?”

  “You do not understand Dor law, my lord. Yes, they can be cruel, but no Dor can kill another to save themselves—except in battle, of course. It would bring dishonor and shame to them, and anger the gods. If her escape would directly lead to the death of a Dor child, she will not do it.”

  “Is this true?” he asked Nena.

  “If you trust your whore so much, try it and see.” It was the first time she had spoken to him directly, and her thick exotic accent on his words fell pleasantly on his ears. Altene’s mastery of his language was far more accurate, with only an occasional hint of her native heritage.

  Altene laughed. “She is clever, this one. You see, she cannot admit it and seal her own fate. She cannot deny it because you would most likely see her lie. So she pretends to want it, hoping you will not so bind her.”

  Jarl surveyed them both. Altene’s assessment made sense, and he had nothing to lose. “Bring a child prisoner and do whatever spell it is you need to do to link them.” Nena’s expression remained impassive as Altene fled to do as he bid, and Jarl wondered again if it were some plot to free her.

  Altene returned quickly with a mother and a girl of ten or eleven years. She wasted no time. “Nena, Daughter of Meln, you are hereby bloodsworn to this child, Exanthia, daughter of Relin. If you should try to escape beyond the borders of this camp for any reason, this child will be sacrificed.”

  The mother fell to her knees before Nena. “I beg of you, please do not let them take my daughter. S
he is all I have left.”

  “Have no fear.” Nena’s voice was gentle as she knelt and took the woman’s hands in her own. “I will not risk your daughter’s life. You have my word.”

  “Gratitude. Gratitude,” the mother whispered and bowed her head.

  “Go with your mother, child, and rest easy. You are safe.” Nena smiled a reassuring smile, though she knew the girl’s future was uncertain at best. Altene was correct; no harm would come to her as a result of Nena’s actions, but what kind of life would it be for a Dor woman-child to be raised as a slave? Is that what had happened to the Klarta woman? Is that how she had forsaken her own people and become such an abomination?

  As Jarl watched Nena comforting the mother and child, he was shocked by two things. The first was an almost regal air about her that he chalked up to his own imagination now that he envisioned her as a princess. The second was her tenderness. It was undeniable, and it surprised him the most. Other than Altene, every Dor woman he’d ever met was cold and without emotion. For that matter, so were the Dor men. Kind and caring, she was truly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Though when she stood and met his gaze, no trace of softness remained; her eyes were hard as stone.

  “Very good, Altene,” Jarl said. “Take the two back to the compound and have a guard put on the girl.”

  “My lord?” Altene looked confused.

  “She’s my insurance. I cannot have anything happening to her.”

  “If the child dies, you can simply swear her to another.”

  “Altene,” he said sharply. “Do as I instructed and arrange for the guard.”

  “Yes, my lord. But what of her?” She nodded toward Nena.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  After Altene left the tent with the mother and child, Jarl weighed his options. Judging from the mother’s response, Jarl believed it to be true, but was he willing to take the risk? Even if he did trust Nena to remain in the prisoner compound without escaping—which he did not, female prisoners were fair game for his men. No matter what his orders, the only truly safe place for her was here. And if Altene was right about her being the daughter of Meln, what a ransom she would command.

  Altene pushed back through the tent flap in a rush. “Shall I release her for you now, my lord?” she asked Jarl, breathless.

  Nena wondered if she’d run all the way. Scurrying little mouse. So eager to do her Northern master’s bidding.

  “I can take her to the compound and make sure she is settled in with the other new prisoners,” Altene offered, trying to regain her breath.

  “I’ve decided to keep her here, to better keep an eye on her,” Jarl announced. “She’s far too valuable to risk something happening to her. And I’ve seen her with a weapon. Her bond to the child won’t stop her from trying to kill my men.”

  “Keep her here? In your tent? With you?” Altene repeated, not appearing to have heard any words past those.

  “Yes,” Jarl replied.

  “But my lord, her skill with a weapon is all the more reason she cannot stay here. I doubt she would risk her life to kill a foot soldier, but you, on the other hand, would be a different story. For that reason alone, she should be far removed from you. And if you’re worried, she can be kept under restraint with the other high risk prisoners.”

  Jarl cut her off before she could continue. “I did not inform you of my decision to invite debate, Altene. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. What I do with her is none of your concern.”

  “Of course, I only thought....”

  “You may go now,” Jarl said and turned away.

  Altene’s disappointment at being so dismissed was palpable. She hesitated, her mouth still open to protest further. Nena wondered with sudden interest if she would refuse him. She’d been so pliable to his every request thus far. Maybe the little mouse had a spine after all.

  Altene composed herself and bowed her head again. “As you wish, my lord.” Without another word, she turned and left the tent.

  Soon after her exit, two thin boards hanging just inside the entrance clattered together. Nena had noticed them earlier, but only now realized their significance. Someone outside was requesting to enter. Nena wondered if it was Altene, returning with some new argument or offering to regain his favor, though she had never used the boards before. Jarl scowled. He must have thought the same.

  “Enter,” he called out, his tone harsh.

  It was not Altene but another Northman who entered, still wearing his blood-streaked battle armor. He was of similar build to Jarl, tall and muscular, and, like Jarl, he moved light on his feet. His face was also clean shaven, though his hair was quite a bit longer and secured with small tight braids against both sides of his head. Nena assumed it was to keep it from his eyes during battle. But it wasn’t his form, or the braids, or the length of wavy hair flowing just past his shoulders that held Nena’s fixed attention. It was his coloring. His hair was pale as the grass in winter and his eyes the same bright blue as a mid-summer sky. Nena had never seen one colored so strangely.

  Jarl approached him and took his outstretched hand before they met in a brief gruff embrace, ending with pats on the back. “You look well for after a battle, Gunnar. I’m glad to see it,” Jarl said.

  “As do you, my captain. Odin and Thor continue to favor us.”

  “Come. Sit. Have a drink.” Jarl waved him to a chair, filled a heavy fired-clay mug with wine and handed it to the fair-colored newcomer. “And Tryggr? Have you seen him?” Jarl asked.

  “Aye. He’s fine, or he will be. The wound in his chest was deep, but luckily he’s a large man and can take it. And you can rest assured the healer will make sure he mends as quickly as possible. There’s already rumor he’s a terrible patient.”

  “Imagine that,” Jarl chuckled.

  “Though I think it’s his pride that will be the longest in healing. Is this the woman who cut off his ear?” Gunnar nodded toward Nena.

  “Only part of his ear, if you are to mention it in his presence,” Jarl cautioned. “And yes.”

  Gunnar laughed. “It will be some time, if ever, before I do that. The last thing I want is that great bear out of sorts with me.” Gunnar looked back at Nena, his eyes traveling over her with appreciation. “I must say, though, he was a fool to give up so easily. One such as that would be worth at least two ears—maybe even part of a nose.”

  “Keep your ears and your nose, Gunnar,” Jarl warned, his tone friendly, but his meaning clear.

  “Of course.” Gunnar nodded and laughed as he turned back to Jarl. “Everything is secure. I came to see if you have any other orders before I find myself a hot bath and a hot woman to share my furs. There are many among this new batch of captives, though none so fine as yours.” His eyes returned to Nena, despite Jarl’s warning, and roved over her once more.

  Jarl found himself not at all liking the other man’s admiration, though he was confident of Gunnar’s loyalty and his obedience on the matter. He was his third in command, behind Tryggr, but now, with Tryggr’s injury, he would be acting second. Jarl had originally dismissed Altene’s idea of returning Nena to her leather dress when his view with this new one was so much better, but he had not considered the daily traffic in his tent. Seeing Gunnar also appreciating the display made the idea of her being covered suddenly much more appealing.

  “You’ve taken account of the men’s injuries?” Jarl asked.

  “Aye,” Gunnar frowned. “The healer has been far busier than expected and requests at least several days before we move camp.”

  “I feared it would be so,” Jarl said and nodded. “Send out the scouts at first light to verify again this position is safe. Make sure they are aware of how costly the inaccuracy of their last report has proven to be. I would not have that mistake repeated.” Jarl’s words were laced with underlying threat.

  Gunnar nodded.

  “Assuming they find nothing new, inform the men that we’ll remain here for a week. That should be enou
gh time for the injured to heal and to replenish our stores. These lands are rich. There is plenty of feed for the horses and the game is bountiful. We’ve pushed hard and made good time; all could use the rest. It serves no purpose to rush an attack on the next village short-handed. It would only jeopardize the healthy. Once the wounded are healed enough to travel, we’ll move north to the next target.”

  Gunnar raised his eyebrows. “A whole week? The men will very much appreciate their leader’s warm consideration for their comfort. And I’m sure it has nothing to do with your wanting extra time to explore your new toy.” Gunnar grinned, then drained his mug and set it down on the table with a thud. “Though a word of advice.” His grin widened as he nodded toward Nena. “With such a beauty occupying your time, you may well need another battle, sooner than later, to get any rest yourself.” Gunnar stood and started toward the tent flap.

  Jarl shook his head and smiled. “Get the hell out of here before I change my mind and let the men know it was your fault.”

  “As you command,” Gunnar said with a mock bow and a rakish smile.

  Nena could still hear the blond man laughing after the tent flap closed behind him. These Northmen had strange ways. Their behavior bordered on disrespectful—as if they served by choice and not decree. The lower soldiers and guards seemed to respond properly to their leader, but those of higher rank were given much more leeway. It would never be so with the Dor. She couldn’t imagine a warrior speaking to her father as this Gunnar had just done Jarl. Not even her elder brother, Lothor, would be permitted such transgression.

  The next rattle of the thin boards requesting permission to enter was one of his guards bringing food. Nena’s mouth watered as the smell of roasted pheasant filled the tent. Though her throat was raw and parched from the smoke and the battle, for a moment her hunger overpowered her thirst. After Jarl’s maps were removed from the table and the large tray of food placed there, the guard exited.